Miriam
by chinyemagne
Summary: Simply titled, simply explained. The story of why Miriam falls asleep constantly on the counter. Or is it deeper than that? Chapter 1: Everything R
1. Default Chapter

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Standardized Disclaimer: I, Chinyere, under my pen name, Chinyemagne, hereby acknowledge that I do not own Hey Arnold! nor the characters that are referenced within, nor am I a hired writer with permission to use their names on this site. However, there is a likelihood that original characters will be created and portrayed within this text. Thank you.

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Miriam

Prologue

I rested my cheek on the table, swirling the small particles of Sweet-n-Low into the grain, making all sorts of shapes. I must have been doing this for several minutes when, strangely enough, the sugar took the shape of a person. I continued with the pattern of the motion of my finger, and at first it looked like Phoebe, but as I continued, it began to take on another shape. The face of my mother glared back at me from the pile of sugar. In frustration and held over virulence, I wiped the sugar off of the table and listened to the particles fall to the floor, making a pattering sound as they each landed.

I sat up from the table and looked at the reflection of myself in my empty dinner plate. My cheek was red from sitting there for so long, and some of the Sweet-n-Low had melted into syrup on my cheek. As I took one of the dinner napkins and scrubbed the sugary mess off of my face, I glared over at my mother.

Miriam was slumped over in her chair, as usual, drooling over her empty dinner plate, snoring loudly. I folded my arms and sighed loudly in exasperation, as if I really had anything to be exasperated about. Bob was late home for the third time that week, and I didn't realize it then, but it was really taking a toll on her. I'd come home, and she was always in the kitchen, leaning against the furniture, asleep. She'd probably have fallen asleep on the stove if she didn't forget to turn the eyes off all the time.

So anyway, this day I must have been in one of my moods, and I had been brooding all the while I sat across from her at the dinner table, set perfectly but with no food prepared. I could excuse my behavior for hunger, but that just wouldn't be right. I guess I just had to say something that had to be said, or else perhaps things would have continued from that day on as they always had before, since Olga went off to college. And Lord knows I never wanted that.

"Mom?" I said finally, breaking the silence of the clean kitchen. Miriam didn't even stir. "Mom." This time, she turned a little, but then almost slipped back into sleep. I was impatient. "_Miriam_!" I hissed. This got her attention, and she was jolted awake with such a force, you would have thought I had slapped her.

Miriam sat up slowly, yawned, and then stared through me with that comfortable stupor in her eyes that I was used to. She stretched before she addressed me. "Helga, dear, did you say something, because…well, I…um…oh yeah, good morning, honey," she finally spit out. "Isn't it time for you to go to school?"

I rolled my eyes and grunted, getting up from the table and slamming my chair under the table. "No, _Miriam_. It's nine o'clock _at night_, and dinner should have been cooked hours ago," I sneered, walking over to an empty pot on the stove for a dramatic flair. "Does this look like a cooked casserole to you, Miriam, because it sure doesn't to me."

Miriam, now becoming increasingly alert, wiped off her glasses and then put them back on and looked at the pot. "Well now, Helga, I have a…a good reason for that. You see…"

"And I'm tired of the same old lame excuses, Mom. I mean, crimeny, you're home all day. What else have you got to do?" I questioned, quite audaciously. Just as Miriam was about to open her mouth again, Bob stormed in the front door.

He didn't even extend a greeting when he came into the kitchen, tracking mud into the hallway before removing his boots on the once clean floor. Miriam cringed as she watched Bob smear mud into the cracks of the tile. "Hey, hey, hey, what's all the yelling about?" he asked immediately, leaving his wet raincoat on the floor of the kitchen. Miriam finally emerged from her chair, scrambling to the ground and picking up the raincoat from the ground.

It was raining heavily outside.

"Miriam didn't cook dinner tonight…_again_," I said, shooting an accusatory glance at my mother and holding my hand out to her body, while she removed a mop and bucket from the broom closet to clean the newly created mess.

"Again, huh," Bob said, turning his eyes towards Miriam. "There's no reason for this, Miriam. I mean, for Christ's sake, you're home all day. What in hell else do you have to do?" Bob said, throwing up his hands and looking into the empty pot I had showed Miriam earlier. Now that Dad was there to do the talking for me, I sat back and listened him say all that I had already said.

As Miriam wiped up what rest of the mud that was left on the floor, she diverted her eyes from Bob. "Well, I'm sorry about that, B, its just that…well, lately I've been _so_…"

Bob hammered his fist against the table, knocking over and breaking the glass that Miriam drank her smoothie out of. "And I'll have no more of those excuses. I've been at work the whole frickin' day, and I come back to a cold and empty pot where my dinner should be. It should have been done hours ago, Miriam," Bob yelled, flinging the top of the pot across the room. I watched in amusement as my parents little tiff progressed. I smirked smugly, knowing that they would end much as they always had, in Miriam apologizing for her stupidity and Bob affirming that his position was correct. That was the way they had always been.

"Well, Bob, Helga, no, I don't really have an excuse for no dinner tonight, but if you would just let me tell you, I've gotten to thinking about things, and well…" Miriam started out excitedly, but didn't get to finish. Now that I look back, there was something about that excitement. It wasn't elation, because she wasn't really smiling. It was more like desperation, one so strong that it caused her to open her eyes fully for the first time since Olga left home. It was startling, now that I look back on it. She had picked up Bob's rain jacket, and took it to the hallway closet to hang.

Bob interrupted her, though, before she could finish. "I told you I'm sick and tired of your whining, Miriam. I mean, the girl is enough to put up with everyday, without having two girls in the house." This really struck Miriam. She stopped in her tracks and glared at the Bob, still holding his raincoat in her hands.

I decided to join in the debate, even though I really had no idea that I was jumping into something too deep that had been going on too long for me to know anything about. "Yeah, _Miriam_, maybe for once in your life you could get your head out of the clouds and come back down to reality. I mean, who's supposed to be the responsible adult?" Neither Miriam nor Bob stopped me at this point. We both kept going.

"Everyday is the same thing. Some lousy excuse covers up your reason for sitting on your ass all day," Bob continued.

I snickered. "Yeah, and why are you asleep all the time, anyway? I doubt that Bob here keeps you up all night anymore."

Bob interjected this time. "Hey, hey, hey! That's dangerous territory you're walking in, little lady," he said, pointing to me. I shrugged innocently, as if I didn't know what I was implying. Bob returned to Miriam, who by this time was staring blankly at the both of us, holding the wet, dripping raincoat more tightly in her hands. "I come home from overtime, expecting just one measly dinner, and instead, this is what I come home to!" Bob complained, finally.

Miriam then let the raincoat slip out of her hand, and Dad and I jumped slightly at the unexpected sound that it made as it hit the tile in the hallway. She then narrowed her eyes slightly, but not so much in rage as in sudden indifference. "Oh, so that's what they call it now. _Overtime_. Yeah, real glad about that, B. Real glad your doing the family some _good_ for once," she edged slightly, going to the coat closet and removing her umbrella.

I took a step back. This really scared me. Miriam had actually been…sarcastic. In all the time I had known her, up to that point, I had never known her to say something even remotely defiant of Dad's will. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was literally taken aback. I found myself leaning against the stairwell, and Bob's face dropped before he changed it into his persistent scowl.

"Hey, hey, hey! And just _what_ is that supposed to mean, Miriam?" Bob said, approaching her swiftly, as if he were going to raise a hand to her, but he didn't. He stopped short of the doorway, where she was standing with the closed umbrella.

Miriam cut him a cold glance before turning back to him and poking him in the chest with the umbrella. "_Hey, hey, hey_, huh? It always comes down to that, doesn't it? Have you got anything else to say for yourself? Helga, since you know so much, how about you?" I remained silent, just waiting to see what Miriam was going to do. "Well, B, Helga, I'll tell you what that means. It means…it means…" I looked at her. Her eyes didn't look so desperate anymore. She momentarily slipped back into the eyes that usually held her sleep after being jolted awake from Bob's chair. The resumed only some of their brightness when Miriam continued.

"It means…I'm going for a walk, and I'll see you two later. Helga, be good," Miriam said, opening up the door meekly and opening the umbrella with a flourish.

It was still raining outside, and lightning struck not to far away.

Although Mom's blank out ruined her flourish, it was still pretty bold for Miriam. Before Dad or I could utter another word, she closed the door behind her, mounted the umbrella, and walked into the storm. The umbrella was no match for the wind, and it was immediately destroyed, blowing upward, making a sort of V-shape. Still, Miriam walked on down the street, acting as if nothing had happened. Bob and I watched her out of the open door.

Finally, as if he had snapped back into reality, Bob ran out of the door and called after her. He ran down the steps to our porch, stood in the center of the sidewalk, planted his feet, and yelled. "Miriam, where do you think you're going?" No response. "Miriam, you're ignoring me…I thought I told you _never_ to walk away when I was talking to you…I'm not coming after you, Miriam, I'm not, I tell you…you'll have to come back on your own, then I'll be right again, like always." This continued like this for the next several minutes, until Miriam descended the hill on our street and Bob could no longer see her from our porch. 

By now, a few of our neighbors were peaking out of the windows, because they usually never heard anything from our house…it's surprising how thick the walls were in the house, although it was old. Frustrated, Big Bob clenched his fists and kicked the base of the porch with a lot of force. Of course the porch didn't move, and he stubbed his toe severely, which made him even more frustrated. I watched as he turned red, and uttered "goddamit" under his breath. He then painfully walked up the stairs, as if nothing happened, ignoring me and ascending to his room, where he shut the door. He didn't come back down, not for dinner, not for his new beeper commercial, not for anything, which really doesn't mean that much, since he had his own stash of food and a television in his room.

That night, I learned how to boil soup on the stove the hard way. It was almost eleven that night by the time that I had finally sat down to a bowl of cold soup on the counter. I ate it solemnly and I looked around the kitchen. I had left a mess, and somehow I didn't feel at peace without cleaning it up, much the same as it had always been as long as I remembered it. As the soup disgusted me, I poured the rest of it down the sink and began to clean the mess that I had made. I was up until after twelve on a school night, still cleaning the kitchen.

I normally wouldn't have stayed up so late, but somehow the impetus that had caused me to clean in the first place kept me up. I eventually lay on the couch in which Miriam had occupied many a night, asleep on Bob's shoulder as he watched _All in the Family_ or something. I rested there, hoping I'd be there to see what Bob would do when Miriam came back. I convinced myself that it would be entertaining to watch, as always.

Above me, I imagined Bob before I went to sleep. He was probably in the king sized, throwing down on some stale pork grinds and howling every time Archie Bunker flushed the toilet, even though he'd heard that sound effect a million times. Instead, I knew he was probably sleeping desolately, clutching to the pillow in much the same way he would clutch to Miriam anytime I would catch them asleep. And as I drifted off to sleep, I keep seeing in my minds eye Miriam walking back in, in the same off-white nightgown she has worn for years, quietly going into their bedroom, gently lifting the covers and filling that void space in Bob's arms. At the time, it disgusted me, and I would wake up to snap out of it, but the image would come back to me, and she would come like a ghost and slip into bed as if she had never been gone.

But, Mom didn't come back while I was cleaning the kitchen, nor was she back when I had gone to sleep on the couch. Mom wasn't back all night, or the day after.

And at the time, I didn't know why, and I was scared out of my mind. I was used to the norm, and this was not something that Miriam would do. I wouldn't know until years later, many years later, why she walked out that day, and why she didn't come back after a few minutes like me and Dad thought she should have. As a ten-year-old kid, I knew nothing about Miriam, but I'm glad I do now. And I think that I would be doing you girls a disservice not to tell you this story, that has helped me so much in my life, as you enter your own. If my mother's got no heirloom to pass, this will serve adequately. I hope you girls can use what I am about to tell you in your everyday life, just as I did with mine.

Do you like? Do you _not_ like? Please let me know, so I can know whether or not to continue (R&R). I definitely have more chapters to go.


	2. Chapter I: Everything

No disclaimers this time, boys and girls! I said it, and y'all know it!

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Everything

I woke up with a headache. As I gingerly held my forehead in my hands, I opened my eyes slowly and observed my surroundings. I was still on the couch, still in my clothes from yesterday and the house still smelled of the soup that I had made last night. Still no Miriam. I knew, because every time Bob came downstairs that night, I heard him, but there was never a sound coming through the front door.

The rain had stopped, though it was still very humid outside, the clouds heavy with rain; it didn't start raining again for a long time.

I got up from the couch and looked at the clock. It wasn't yet seven and I had to go to school that day, but I had slept horribly. I sulked into the hallway, noticing Bob's raincoat still lying in the middle of the floor. I stared at it for a while, before picking it up and hanging it in the hallway closet. As I did this, Dad descended to the main floor, looking as much a mess as I was. We looked at each other in silence before either of us spoke.

"I'm going upstairs to wash up," I finally said, pulling my hair out of the ponytails and slowly walking up the stairs. Bob followed closely behind me, as I made my way to the bathroom.

"Has your mother come back yet?" he asked, obviously trying to shield the anxiety in his voice with its usual roughness. I did not look back at him, and made a straight shot to my room to find a fresh change of clothes. "Well?" he asked again.

I grunted a little as I emerged from my room with my clothes in my hands, passing by Bob to get to the bathroom. "Well, obviously not, _Bob_. You don't see her in the house, do you?" I said, as I closed the door in the face of my father and began to change out of my wrinkled clothes from yesterday. He continued to talk at me through the door.

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't use that tone with me, little lady," he asserted. Somehow, Bob always managed to begin an argument in the same way each time…each one bordered on a question of his authority.

I pulled my skirt over my head and sighed. "Don't I use it with you everyday, Dad?" And it was true. About Arnold in the past I had been ambiguous, but with Big Bob and Miriam I was pretty much consistent in my personality.

"That may be the case, Olga, but let me assure you…things are gonna change around here," Bob said. I listened to his muffled voice as I turned on the showerhead in our tub.

"Yeah, things'll change, alright…as soon as you finally get my name right!"

"I'm serious. You give me time, and you'll see. I'm putting my foot down, and it starts with you fixing me some breakfast," Dad said, his voice becoming even more muffled under the loud hiss of the water.

"Well, looks like you should've put your foot down sooner, or maybe _Miriam_ wouldn'tve run out," I said over the rushing water, knowing that would strike a chord with him. My ploy was successful…it had silenced Bob. "And unless you want to get poisoned, don't ask someone as inexperienced as me to cook."

I listened for a few seconds longer, waiting for Bob's response, but it never came. I then ducked into the shower, closed the curtain, and tried to preoccupy myself with other thoughts. Not even thoughts of Arnold could take my mind from seeing visions of Miriam again, like a ghost, in her blue dress and pumps, soaking wet. As I put my head under the water jet, I could just see Miriam, walking across the street, in the pouring rain and almost getting hit by a car. I could barely see her crossing that street and not even acknowledging that car was there. I could almost see her sitting at a bench and looking imploringly at the sky, as if asking the rain to stop. But I never really could see Miriam…

* * *

And how could I have seen my mother, at least then. My mother…the little blonde girl that sat at my grandparents' table, beaming brightly at the sight of her tenth birthday cake. I can't imagine myself, at least at her age, being as excited as she was about a birthday cake. A layer cake decked with ten candles, one layer white, one layer strawberry, with butterscotch icing, just as she had asked. And, Granddad had made it extra special, with "Happy Tenth Sweet Miriam" written on with the syrup Granny just made, with his best script hand. And as they looked on, Abel and Hannah could not have been prouder of Miriam, their baby girl. With them looking on at Miriam's delight was Carrie, Granny's oldest daughter, sixteen at the time. Miriam also had another sibling…a brother named Harding that she only seemed to remember for his listening to records of Chuck Berry and Elvis Presley and Granddad getting all mad and finally smashing them to pieces. But Harding wasn't there. No one knew where Harding was.

"Hurry on now, Mimsy, lest you want the wind to do the blowin' for ye," Granny said, stroking her daughter's hair from her eyes as she sat eagerly before the cake. The little blonde girl, my mother, Mimsy, looked up at Granny and giggled childishly and then turned to her cake. She then adjusted herself in the chair, took a deep breath, and blew with all her might, her eyes closed. She didn't cease blowing until she had no air left in her. Hearing Carrie chuckling, she was afraid to open her eyes again to see the result.

When Miriam did open her eyes, there were two candles still lit. She gasped and blew them out quickly, but not before her sister Carrie could make an observation. "Uh, Mims, looks like you missed two candles. You know what that means, don't you? It means you're gonna grow up to have two kids," Carrie said, narrowing her eyes at Miriam.

Miriam immediately began to get upset with Carrie's remark. "Uh-uh…take it back, Carrie!" she squealed, while her sister laughed devilishly from the other end of the table.

"Can't take back what's true, now, can I?" Carrie taunted, watching her little sister shrink.

"Mother!" Miriam whined, burying her head in her mother's chest. Granny held Miriam's head in her hands and tossed her head back and laughed heartily, just as she was wont to do when something really amused her.

She snipped her amusement to look sternly at Carrie. "Carrie, gal, don't go tauntin' your sister here. It's her birthday, her special day---and I don' think you'd take too kindly to your father or me doin' the same thing on your birthday, wouldga?" she said, looking down at the little blonde girl who was my mother.

Carrie sighed, a smile still on the corner of her lips. "No ma'am, I wouldn't."

"Well, there ya go!" Granny reasoned, holding Miriam's head in her hands and looking at her. "And dontchu worry your pretty li'l head 'bout it, Mimsy. You're only just ten, and soon enough you can be gettin' married and decidin' on your future life."

Miriam's eyes widened again, as her imagination began to expand. "Really?" she asked, wonderment filling her wide eyes.

Abel, who up to this point had remained silent, suddenly sat forward and spoke up. "Aww, c'mon Hannah…don' rush the gal. She can take all the time in the world she likes to think on such things," he said, adjusting the suspenders to his trousers as he spoke.

Granny pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at her husband. "Oh, but Abe, it's so wonderful to think about, it really is. Miriam's beautiful children…just like she was when she was just a babe. Can't you see it, Abe?"

Miriam was beginning to turn beet red in embarrassment. "Mother!" she exclaimed. "Now suppose I'm not getting married for a long time yet. Will you be able to wait that long?"

"Of course I can, silly girl," Granny said, pinching Mom's cheeks and causing her to giggle again. "It's just a thought, Abe, just a thought…" Granny said, looking somewhat in desperation at her husband, waiting for the response she wanted.

Abel waved a hand at his wife before getting up from the table. "Oh, come off it, woman," he said, as he stretched and then stood behind Carrie at the table.

Granny sighed as she stroked her daughter's hair. "Yes, I remember when you was first born, Mimsy. You was hard labor, I'll tell you that much, but you was the most beautiful li'l thing I had ever set my eyes upon!" she exclaimed, giving her daughter a brief hug from the neck up. "Yes indeedy. Doctor's told me I had a healthy baby girl, and when I looked atche, all I could see was your Daddy. Yes, a baby girl with pretty blue eyes and a head full of blonde hair, just like your Daddy. A pretty li'l thing," Granny continued, walking into the kitchen to retrieve plates and silverware for Miriam's cake. Abel took a seat behind Carrie.

Meanwhile, Carrie fingered her own hair, tied in a simple ponytail in the middle back of her head. Her hair was pitch black, like her mother's. She never had hair her mother would fuss over, possibly because her hair was too much like her own. Perhaps because she was too much like Granny, Granny never fussed over her like she did Mom. Carrie stood up from the table, fluffed her skirts, and left unnoticed.

Granny returned from the kitchen with four plates and four forks to serve the birthday cake. Like clockwork, she began to set the places at the table; a task she was all too used to performing. While she did this, she continued to talk. "An' the first time we took you into town, Mimsy, those folks couldn' get enough of ye. Folks I didn' even know, stoppin' me on the street…"

Miriam watched her mother work mechanically, setting the places at the table and interrupted her. "Mother, you need any help with that?" she asked, reaching for one of the knives.

Granny looked at her, smiled and patted her on the head. "Oh, of course not, honey. It's your birthday, you don' have to do anything," she proclaimed, putting the last plate down. "Besides, I only had four places to set…and speaking of which, where did that Carrie run off to?" Granny said, looking at her daughter's empty seat.

Abel looked at the seat, shrugged, and then reached across the table to retrieve that day's paper. Miriam looked beyond the kitchen to notice that the back door was swinging open. "She probably went to talk to that boy…" she began, before abruptly interrupting herself by covering her mouth and gasping. Granny, who had not sat down that entire day while preparing for Miriam's birthday, stood up and looked sharply from Miriam to Abel. Abel, his keen ears picking up the interrupted phrase, put down his paper and glared at his youngest daughter.

"What was that you was sayin' there, Miriam?" he said softly, standing up from his chair. Granny looked helplessly between the two, knowing that there was nothing in her power to prevent Abel from going into one of his rages. "Somethin' about a boy, huh?"

Miriam slowly swallowed a bite of her cake as she looked at her father. "A boy?" she asked, attempting not to reveal what she was about to say.

Granny burst into the conversation, standing between Miriam and Abel. "Well, Abe, what I was meanin' to tell you for the longest is that our Carrie may have a steady now…well, she has one for sure," Granny eventually relented. She grabbed Abel before he made any rash movements in Carrie's direction. She held him tightly in place, using all of her strength, and looked into his eyes. "But Abe, I've met the boy, and he's real nice and decent. Comes from a good family there, down the way, fine house. Money by inheritance, I hear. Name's Clifford Mackenzie…"

"Clifford _McKenna_," Miriam corrected from her plate of cake, looking at her mother holding back her father. Abel relaxed and glared at Miriam, who looked away in partial fright. "He's graduating this year, honors. If he gets all As another semester, he's gonna be the valedictorian of his class," Miriam volunteered, before putting another piece of cake in her mouth and watching her parents.

Abel nodded and relaxed, and Granny gradually let go of him. She then watched him as he began to pace in the room, shaking his head, his hands behind his back. Granny walked calmly besides Miriam, and waited to see what Abel was going to do next. "So, I'm supposin' that my own wife, my daughters, have been keepin' this thing from me for a while. I'm supposin' you're tryin' to make me out of a fool, make me look like I'm the only one who don't know nothin'…" Abel said, speaking but not looking at either of them.

"Oh, now Abel, be reasonable. We weren' trying to do nothin' of the sort and you know it," Granny said, walking to the side of her husband from behind an on-looking Miriam, who by now said nothing and only observed with wide eyes.

Abel then lashed out at Granny, his eyes lined with rage. "Then why in hell didn't you tell me about this McKenna?" he exploded. Both Granny and Mom jumped at this sudden outburst. "Miriam I can understand…bless her heart, the child don't know no better, but Hannah, you should know how I feel about this thing…"

"But he's such a fine boy, Abe, he really is," Granny ensured her husband, following him to the coat closet where he put on his boots to go out and find Carrie. Miriam licked her plate as her father returned.

"I don't care what the boy is like…he's not courtin' my Carrie proper, and if he ain't courtin' proper, he can't court at all!" Abel resolved, stomping his foot on the hardwood floor in the kitchen. "Now, if the boy had any sense…"

Granny intercepted Abel as he came to the back door. "Abel, _please_," she begged, catching him from the shoulder.

"Hannah, if you would let me finish!" Abel said, wringing himself from his wife's strong grasp. "Now, like I was sayin', if the boy had any sense he woulda asked my permission first before he called himself _courtin_' one of mine, that's what I say…"

Before Abel could finish, he looked up in time enough to see Carrie entering the house, her hands behind her back. She looked at Abel and Hannah, as they were, standing in the opening to the back door, staring back at her. "Why are you two looking at me like that? Did I miss something?" she asked innocently, as she walked to the kitchen to join Miriam at the table. Miriam licked her fork as she watched the developing situation.

Abel stepped forward, his boots booming on the hardwood floors, resonated through the foundation of the house. "I don' know, girl, seems to me as if I'm the one missin' somethin' around here. What is this I hear about Clifford McKenna?" Abel inquired. Miriam watched as her sister froze in her tracks and turned beet red. Her eyes widened slightly before she swung around to face her on-looking parents.

She stood for a while, just looking at them incredulously, before she let her bottom lip tremble and burst forth crying. "Oh, Father, Mother, I am _so_ sorry!" she began, before turning her back from both of them, leaning on the table with her head between her arms. Miriam put down her fork and stared into her sister's face as she began to weep. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen this way, honest, I just said hello Clifford, and next thing I know…"

Before Carrie could say anything more, Abel took her by the shoulders and turned her around harshly to face him. "Just what have you and this McKenna fella been doin' that your so sorry over?" he asked, looking directly into her eyes, causing her to shrink away. Miriam and Granny looked on helplessly, as they knew there was really nothing that either of them could do to prevent Abel's frequent rages. And neither of them knew when they were going to end.

"Nothing, Father, I swear, nothing other than talking and visiting with each other…" Carrie struggled to say behind sobs and gasps for breath. After glaring at her intensely for a few more moments, Abel finally released Carrie, and she dropped to the ground, as he had lifted her several inches from the ground without realizing it. Miriam watched as Carrie swallowed hard and clutched her chest, watching as her tremendous father stormed across the room before turning back to address her.

"No need for apologizing…next time there will be no sorry," Abel began, trudging towards the back door. "Because there's not gon' be no next time," Abel said, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. On this note, Carrie widened her eyes and Granny sprang forward to Abel's side. Miriam was perfectly frozen in her seat.

Again, Granny attempted to reason with Abel, tried to get him to calm his temper as she had managed to do earlier. "Now, c'mon, Abe…" she began, holding tightly to his arm as he attempted to stop him from leaving the house.

"Offa me, woman!" Abel said, practically throwing Granny off of his arm. By now, Carrie had emerged from the ground and stood behind her sister, clutching her chair nervously.

Granny tried again. "I just don' want you to do anything rash…remember what happened with Harding…" Granny attempted to reason, before realizing what she said. She watched as Abel froze in his struggle, and slowly turned to look at her. She realized then, that instead of calming Abel down, she had not only increased his anger but also redirected it at herself. As a reflex, she looked back to her two daughters, who were still frozen in their spots, and flashed her eyes as a signal for them to go to their posts.

Carrie responded first, running up to the room where she would have later been sent. Miriam, moments later, ran out of the front door of their house to the stables, kiddy cornered to the front left corner of the house. As she ran out of the house, Miriam could hear her father's voice escalating, warning Granny that she was never supposed to speak of Harding again, but Miriam flushed out all words and sounds as she left the house, so she didn't really hear. This is how, in that very manner, Miriam eventually forgot about Harding, almost altogether, over the years.

She slowed when she was a safe distance from the house, and as she reached the stable where she kept her horse. Before she made her way to the stable, she saw someone at the opening gate of her house, waving. Before she approached this figure, she glanced back at her own home, to make sure no one was watching her. Seeing no faces near the windows, she then ran to the fence that separated her property from the dirt road that traveled throughout the ranching community.

On the other side of the fence was a small boy, barefoot with coveralls, with dirty feet and dirty hands, obviously after a long day of play outside. Miriam smiled warmly as she recognized the old friend. "Hello, Miriam. Pretty new dress you've got there," he said, somewhat formally, as Miriam leaned against the fence. Miriam smiled shyly before she responded.

"Yes, thank you, hello Charles," she replied, leaning closer to the boy as he leaned away from the fence. "You're here early…why?"

The small boy, Charles, somewhat more comfortable as he and Miriam began to speak more, loosened up. "Well, to tell you the truth, I wasn't expecting to see you here at all, considering today is your birthday, and…" Charles paused, looking around before he continued in a whisper, "your Pop's not out working or something." 

Miriam then laughed childishly, again, covering her mouth to muffle the laughter. "No…Father just went into one of his fits again, and Mother told me and Carrie to get," she said, glancing back at her house.

"Oh, I see," Charles nodded, as he had heard of the plights of living in Miriam's household many times before, as Miriam had been his closest friend since as long as he could remember. Although, for all of the years that they had been friends, it had been a secret friendship, in a sense, since Abel didn't go for his daughters having friends of the opposite sex. Well, Abel didn't go for much of anything else, actually. Just having things the way he thought they ought to be at all times.

And Charles understood all of this, and a brief response was all that was needed to close that part of the conversation. "Well, I was actually going to stop by the market for mother to get some molasses…speaking of which," he said, snapping and pulling a small bag from his coveralls. "Happy birthday, Mims," he proclaimed, placing the bag into her hands.

Again, Miriam peered nervously over her shoulders before she responded. "Oh Charles, you know you didn't have to do this…" she began, as she willingly unwrapped the item, hastily covered with old newspaper. Within the paper was a notebook, made with the bindings of an old book spiral bound with paper placed inside of it. On the cover of the book was a picture of Miriam, grinning widely and standing next to a young white horse with black spots. Woven into the cover was the word "Memories."

As Miriam's eyes widened at the gift, Charles shuffled his feet in the dirt at the silence. "Well, I knew how much you liked to write about everything that happens in the day, and how you would always find some odd piece of paper to write on…heck, you'd probably write on me if I could sit still." Miriam giggled as Charles said this, still staring at her gift, eyes full of awe. "So, I put this together, and I found that picture of you from you last year's birthday when you first got Molasses, and so I decided to bind you a memory book…I had Tammy to embroider the word on the cover, though, because I can't sew for my life…"

Miriam interrupted Charles before he could go on. "Oh, but Charles…I love it just the same. It's beautiful, perfect…" she said, still staring at the book. She then put it down and looked at her friend. "But, I feel bad because I didn't get you a present for your last birthday," she admitted.

"We didn't exchange gifts before…let's just say I started a tradition or something, okay?" Charles resolved, shrugging.

"Okay, but that doesn't mean I can't get you something for your last birthday anyway," Miriam said. She then leaned over the fence, this time not bothering to look back at the house, and kissed Charles on the cheek. Charles, not expecting this, instantly blushed and looked suspiciously at Miriam, expecting an explanation. "Will _that_ hold you over until I can get you a real present?" she asked innocently.

Charles, over the initial shock, now smiled and nodded. "As far as I'm concerned, Mims, that can be my present," he said, before deciding to run off down the road towards the market. Miriam smiled after Charles, and then remembered where she was. Nothing out of the ordinary was stirring up at the house, so she assumed that she went unnoticed, and continued on her way towards the stable, where she would visit Molasses until she saw Abel storm out of the house, to his truck, and drive off the property.

It wasn't until this point that she knew it was safe to return to the house, and that the storm had blown over. As usual, she opened the door to Granny quietly sewing in the front room on the sofa as if nothing had happened. It always seemed to be the same stance. Granny would have her sewing project in her lap, her pin cushion to the right of her and the thread to the left, with her feet crossed, her head bent down, and her hands busy. Her strong brow often covered her eyes, which would be slightly moist from the confrontation with her husband. Granny, expecting her daughter's return from the stable, beckoned to her to join her by her side. This time, unexpected by Miriam, Granny hugged her daughter tightly and looked into her eyes before she said anything.

"Mimsy, your father is a good man, and I don' wanna ever hear you speak otherwise, ye hear?" she said, somewhat harshly, as she clutched Miriam's face in her hands. "He's a good man, and someday, you'll be married, too, but it'll be to someone even better than your Daddy, because you're that special, Mimsy."

Granny then let go of Miriam's face and relaxed a little. "Okay Mother," Miriam said calmly, though slightly frightened.

Granny continued. "But doncha ever run out on your life like that, Miriam, doncha ever. It only takes a coward to do that, and you're so much more than that, baby, so much more…" Granny stopped suddenly as she saw that Miriam was beginning to get concerned. "Now, be a good girl and go up to check on Carrie…she was a bit upset last time I seen 'er," Granny commanded, scooting Miriam up and hitting her playfully on the butt as a cue to check on Carrie.

Miriam got up from the sofa and looked at her mother again before ascending the stairs to the room that she and Carrie shared in the loft. As she went up the stairs, her mind swam with various thoughts. She wondered what state she would find her sister in, who lately had become the brunt of all of her father's frustration and rage. She wondered if her mother was truly all right, or if she was again hiding some kind of bruise or scrape from previous run-ins with her father. She wondered in what state her father would return and if she and her sister would again have to head for the stable and wait for the storm to blow over.

She wondered what would happen to poor Charles if her father ever found out about their friendship.

"Hey Mims, you have to be more careful when Charles comes around. Father could have caught that little kissing stunt you pulled." Miriam was suddenly startled by a voice that seemingly read her mind, and she pushed in the door to find Carrie sitting in one of the dormer windows in their room, reading a book. Upon entering, she again studied her sister's face, and noticed that she was no longer crying. There seemed to be no strain in her eyes, and they were no longer reddened.

"Carrie…are you all right?" she asked, approaching her sister and sitting at her feet.

At this, Carrie chuckled and put her book down. "Of course I'm all right…I've gotten in a lot of reading," she explained, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

Miriam wondered at Carrie's disposition. "So, you aren't upset anymore? About the whole thing with Father?"

Carrie smirked at Miriam before waving a hand at her and picking up a fashion magazine. "Are you kidding? I was never upset…I just put on an act, that's all. A pretty convincing one, too…I think it fooled Mother," she laughed, leaning back in her chair and placing her legs against the wall. Miriam, slightly taken aback, gasped.

"You faked the whole being sorry thing?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Gee Carrie, I hardly know what to think of you anymore," Miriam, admitted, getting up from her position, sitting at Carrie's feet, and walking to her side of the room where she flopped down on the bed.

Carrie glared at Miriam from her magazine before speaking to her again. "Oh, Miriam, grow up."

"I'm serious," Miriam continued, sitting up on the bed. "I never know when you are being sincere anymore, and it hurts me."

On that note, Carrie closed her magazine and let it drop to the floor. "Oh yeah, so it hurts you. So what? Father's never laid a hand on you," she revealed, staring at Miriam from her chair. "Do you know how much it hurts to get hit by Father when he's in one of his rages?" Miriam remained silent in her arraignment. "Do you know how much it hurts to see Mother broken down after one of she and Father's 'confrontations?' Do you know how much it hurts to have your father dictate your life every living second with no alternative?" Carrie interrogated, getting up from her chair and approaching Miriam with each question.

Miriam finally broke her silence. "Mother just told me that Father was a good man…and Mother wouldn't lie," Miriam was only able to say, before Carrie shot her down again.

"Oh _please_, Miriam, you don't actually buy that, do you?" Miriam again fell silent. "Mother's just telling herself that stuff to make herself feel better. I guess you could say ol' Abe is a good father, since he provides for us, but they never said in the manual that good fathers also come with hot tempers and vast misunderstandings." Carrie then sat on the bed next to Miriam, and let Miriam bury her head in her chest as she began to cry in the thought of everything she presented.

"Mims, I think since this is your tenth birthday, you ought to be old enough to learn certain things about us, and how we've been living. Father's sure not going to tell you, and unfortunately neither is mother, so you'll have to hear it from me. You're listening?"

"Yes," Miriam nodded, her vision blurring with the onset of tears.

Carrie nodded. "I'll start with how I have to live. You see, ever since I've known Father, he always has to have things _his_ way. He always has these ideas in his head, and they have to be realized exactly how he wanted them to be. He would have a small family, with a dutiful wife and obedient, hardworking children. He wanted his sons to be bulls and his daughters to be prizes. We are the prizes, Miriam," she said, looking at her sister before hugging her tighter.

"Prizes?" Miriam questioned.

"Sure. We have to be the prettiest, purest girls in town. We have to marry someone he approves of, preferably someone with old money and a nice reputation in town and elsewhere. And they have to follow his rules of courtship," Carrie chuckled, remembering the close encounter she had with her father that afternoon. "Just one of his crazy ideas.

"And, if we, any of us, don't live up to Father's standards, he gets very upset, and sometimes goes into his rages, which can get dangerous depending on how mad he gets," Carrie concluded, letting go of her sister and passing a handkerchief for her to wipe her eyes. "This is why I have to act all the time. This is why I have to lie. I have to lie because I'm expected to live a lie, and there is no way it can be done.

"I have to pretend I'm sorry when I'm not, and upset when I'm otherwise. I have to act like I've only been _talking _to Clifford," Carrie declared, before suddenly feeling Miriam's eyes glaring into her side and a sudden gasp on her part, "just like you pretend Charles doesn't exist." This instantly humbled Miriam, and she softened her gaze at her sister. "I only hoped you would have caught on without me having to tell you the truth about what it means to be Abel's daughters, but, now that I've told you, it's mostly up hill from here. Besides, Mims, you are their _everything_. You are the youngest, and they seemed to have put their last hope on you. Being their everything means you get off easy."

Miriam, wiping the final traces of tears from her eyes, gazed up at her sister. "Why did you _have_ to tell me, when I was almost perfectly happy without knowing?"

"Mims, you live a horridly sheltered life," Carrie admitted, kissing Miriam on the cheek and getting up from the bed. "It's no good to block out all the bad and live happily off of fluff. It's better to know the truth and achieve happiness through other means. Because, there isn't always fluff to satisfy yourself with."

Miriam, recovering from the recent revelations, sniffed away the last bit of sadness and began to swing her legs over the side of the bed to occupy herself. "So, what are we to do, then, if this is so bad?" Miriam asked her sister dubiously, still not buying into her philosophy.

"I don't know what you're going to do, Miriam, but you can take a page out of my book," Carrie said, spinning around in front of her mirror so that her skirts blew upward. She admired herself as she spoke. "You can get out of this house as soon as you can. Get out, and never turn back. Never come back." Miriam gasped again as Carrie continued. "If I have to run away, I will, just so I can have a happy life. If I stay, I'll be subjected to the same thing I've been living all these sixteen years of my life, the same thing that Mother's been living through for so many years, and frankly, I'm not that type of woman."

"Carrie!" a coarse voice bellowed from the floor below. It was Abel…he had returned. Carrie quickly ran to the door of the loft and stuck her head out of the door.

"Yes Father?"

"You come down here and help your mother fix supper. I have to mend the gate to our fence and I expect there to be hot dinner prepared when I get back in," Abel commanded.

"Yes sir," Carrie said, brilliantly and obediently, before softly closing the door and turning back to Miriam, who was getting up from the bed. "No, Mims. You stay here and think about what I said. I'll be fine without your help tonight," she said, before exiting the loft and closing the door behind her.

After the talk that her sister had given her, Miriam lay on the bed and thought about all she had said. Was she really their _everything_? Why would she ever want to run away from the only home she knew, the only family she ever loved? Hadn't Granny said that only cowards run away? And if she did, what else would she do with her life? All she saw in her future was growing up and marrying someone like the only father she had, the father she adored for who he was…Abel.

She could see herself in a portrait, with a man who was tall yet stocky, with thick hair and a strong brow, much like her fathers. She imagined this man had an iron fist when it came to his own opinions, but was a handworker, just as she had always known Abel to be. But in all this time that she lay there, making her own visions, she could never see herself in the portrait.

And this is when all of Miriam's problems started, on the night of her tenth birthday.

* * *

By the time my vision of Miriam on the bench in the rain had ended, I had somehow gotten myself ready for school, although I had forgotten to blow-dry my hair, so that my hair lay in two limp ponytails against my dress. As I opened the door to the bathroom, I peered down the hallway on either side to see if Bob were hanging around somewhere, waiting for me to get out of the shower to harass me. Surprisingly, Dad was no where in sight. Initially, I shrugged his sudden disappearance off and ran downstairs to see if he were perhaps still there, attempting to prepare breakfast.

Once I arrived in the kitchen, I snagged a note from the refrigerator that was from Bob. It said that he headed off to work early, reminding me to lock the dead bolt and asking me to have a good day at school. This was totally unlike my father. And attached to it was money that would allow me to buy breakfast at school. I took advantage of this strange occurrence and pocketed the money, with no intention of eating whatever the school had to serve for breakfast. I instead decided to head out to school early and take the long way…by walking.

After I locked up and headed out of the door, I turned in the direction in which Miriam had left and began to comb the streets. I looked for any signs of Miriam that I could find…perhaps an earring, or a heel, or a piece of the umbrella. I tried to do so inconspicuously as I made my way to the school grounds, but I did manage to arouse some stares from passersby whenever I momentarily squatted to the ground to pick up a piece of trash and examine it.

And I was on the side of the road and on the city sidewalk long enough for the sun to have partially dried my hair. And the light that it cast glistened in the tears that began to fall from my eyes. I would have never thought this to happen to me before, but it was. I was crying for my Mommy. And, before I rounded the block to get to school, I dropped to my knees and prayed, not caring who was looking at the time.

I prayed that He keep my mother, because I thought she couldn't keep herself.


End file.
